


Tangled Hearts

by brookebond, cherrygoldlove



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Angst, Bond is a little shit, Cheating, Discovering a kink, Drunk Sex, Fluff, Frottage, M/M, Regrets, Romantic Getaway, inappropriate gifts, q gets really drunk and makes a bad decision, questionable decisions, so many regrets, sort of, unrepentant flirting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-11-11 00:41:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11137830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brookebond/pseuds/brookebond, https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherrygoldlove/pseuds/cherrygoldlove
Summary: Nothing's ever easy when you work an almost 24/7 job, have a department to run, a boyfriend, and a cat to feed.Then there's the ever unruly 007.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the little baby cherry and I have been working on.  
> You're all in for quite a ride!
> 
> This doesn't currently have an update schedule, we're playing it by ear at the moment.  
> Tags will be updated as chapters are posted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'd like to than opalescentgold for betaing this chapter.  
> We really, really appreciate it!

“Look, 007, I understand that you think you are God’s gift to the human race, but could you possibly be a little less obvious about it? You are supposed to be blending in.” Q watched as Bond sauntered through the ballroom, one hand casually slipped into his pocket while the other held a martini glass. Even over the security feed, Q could tell Bond was making eyes at every woman he passed and wondered just how in the hell his agent hadn’t been shot by an angry husband yet.

“This is blending in,” Bond responded as he lifted the drink to his lips to cover his response.

Q rolled his eyes at the nearest minion, making him laugh out loud.

This was an easy mission, for all intents and purposes, so Q really didn’t need to be on the comms with Bond. His team was more than capable of handling an information transaction, but Anthony was out of the country, and he didn’t want to be at home alone with their cat, Lem.

“I’ve spotted Grisham.”

“I see him,” Q confirmed, his fingers flying over the keyboard as he attempted to get a better angle on their informant. He was a new one which was why Bond had been sent. They could never be too careful when it came to things like this. If Grisham turned out to be untrustworthy or it was an ambush, Bond would take care of him quietly and MI6’s secrets would still be safe.

Bond downed the rest of his martini in one gulp and left the empty glass on a nearby table as he followed Grisham, making sure to keep several people between himself and the mark. It was admirable, really, Bond’s dedication to the mission even though he was still sticking out like a sore thumb.

“Really, 007, if it was absolutely necessary for you to swagger like that, it would have been part of the briefing.”

A soft chuckle filtered through the comms, bringing a smile to Q’s face. It was fun being on comms with Bond. The teasing and snark was something Q missed when he had to deal with the other agents.

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time, Q,” Bond replied, his voice filled with amusement.

“I will not be adding that to the briefing,” Q shot back, his fingers flying over the keyboard as he tracked Grisham through the ballroom and out a side door. “He’s left the room, seems to be heading for the rendezvous point.”

“Yes, I noticed.”

“If you’d rather someone else handled this, 007, I’d be more than happy to hand over the comms.”

“I’d much rather you handed over something a little more _personal_ , Quartermaster,” Bond purred over the comms.

Q glanced over his shoulder, suddenly grateful that he had decided to keep the comms private. Bond’s tone alone made him blush like it was the first time the agent had ever flirted with him. It was a regular occurrence and Q always stayed calm, stayed on task. But a part of him was bored today and in need of some attention, since Anthony was out of the country. Where was the harm in a little banter?

“If it’s your Walther again, 007, I may have to give you a water pistol for your next mission.”

“As a matter of fact, it is my Walther. I think its palm print sensor needs some adjusting. Would you care to give me a _hand_ with it when I get back?” Bond’s tone was just low and sultry enough that Q had no doubt his tech was just fine.

“The palm print recognition is perfect,” Q sputtered. He may have recognised the flirting for what it was, but any mention that his tech was performing less than perfectly was a personal affront.

“Perhaps it’s my grip. I may need hands-on assistance.”

Q groaned at the obviousness of the innuendo and wondered if Bond had stopped trying to be clever. Maybe it was because he wasn’t flirting back, though Q wasn’t entirely sure how to flirt. Was there some sort of script to follow?

He was attempting to think of an appropriate response when Q noticed someone following Bond out of the ballroom. “You appear to have collected a tail,” Q said, tapping away at the keyboard as he attempted to get a better look at the person.

“I did notice that,” Bond muttered, the flirtatious undertones gone.

“If you turn right at the next corner, there should be a closet you can hide in.” Q had brought up the building layout when he first noticed the tail and was now formulating a plan on how to get his agent out of there with the least amount of disruption or notice. It wasn’t going to be easy, not with Bond’s penchant for dramatics, but Q was determined.

“You want me to hide in a closet?” Bond asked, incredulous that Q had even thought of suggesting something so ridiculous.

“No, Bond, I want you to be out and proud,” Q bit out. “Follow the orders of your superior officer, 007, and get yourself in that closet, your tail is advancing on you.”

“You’ll be paying my dry cleaning bill,” Bond muttered as he did as Q instructed, turning the next corner and hiding in the closet.

Q’s eyes flitted over the screens, taking in the person who had been tailing Bond. The dark-haired male hadn’t noticed that the agent had turned down a different hallway and walked past, reaching into his jacket for something.

“Right, you’re clear,” he said when the tail had entered the room Grisham had gone into. “If you continue following this hallway, you’ll make it to the kitchen which will lead to an alley. You’ll be able to get away and no one will be the wiser.” Q tapped at his keyboard, issuing electronic commands to different teams so they could prepare for dealing with Grisham and his friend.

Instead of heading the way Q told him to, Bond moved cautiously through the hallway to the room he was meant to meet Grisham in, the one where two men were waiting—one of them most definitely armed.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m taking care of this.”

“I told you to get out of there,” Q huffed, fingers tapping over the keys furiously as he attempted to figure out a different way of stopping Bond from getting into that room. Perhaps he could cut the lights or override the sprinkler system. Neither option would stop Bond entirely, but both would certainly slow him down.

“I’m not going to be made a fool of.”

“Oh, Christ, 007. No one even knows it was you. Just get out of there and return to headquarters so I can properly reprimand you for disobeying an order.”

“Oh, Q, you can reprimand me anytime,” Bond teased.

“You are going to be a test dummy for the next month if you do not get your arse out of that building,” Q threatened, desperately wishing he had control over the building’s security systems. He was rushing to hack into the sprinkler system. It was the only course of action that was available, and while the water wouldn’t slow Bond down, Q knew it would send the other two running.

“Please shut up, Q.”

Q sucked in a breath, his eyes narrowing at the agent on the screen. He was going to enjoy making Bond suffer for the next month. Q was going to get his minions to create a list of all the jobs they hated doing and make Bond do them. Well... after he laid into Bond for being a prat. He was sure he could talk Mallory into keeping Bond off missions for the next little while. It would do the agent good to get a little taste of hard work that didn’t end with him in some pretty woman’s bed.

“Fine, 007. Shall we wager that you won’t be able to get out of this unscathed?” Q suggested, letting his fingers still on the keyboard.

Bond stilled in the hallway, eyes flicking toward the nearest camera as though he could look straight through it to Q.

“What do I get if I win?”

Q tapped a finger against his desk, thinking as fast as he could. There were many options really—he could wager up Bond doing all those terrible jobs or he could go down a different route. It was tempting to play it safe, but Q felt reckless, could feel the tension creeping up in him at the tone Bond was using.

“You can choose one weapon from R&D to test for a day,” Q offered though it pained him to do so. Letting a double-oh free with prototypes was not a good idea.

“Only one?”

”Don't push it, 007”

Bond smirked at the camera and Q could tell that the agent had stopped himself from making some sort of innuendo. “What if you win?”

“I’ll think of something.”

Bond nodded at the camera and pushed open the door that led to Grisham and his friend.

Q watched, ready to jump in by setting off the sprinkler system if Bond needed his help. It was difficult to sit back and not say anything to help his agent; it felt wrong, like he wasn’t doing his job. But Q had to admit that he wanted to see what Bond planned to do. If anyone noticed the three men in the room, however, they would likely all be caught and Q would need to step in.

Bond entered the room, all his earlier confidence returned, and started talking to Grisham as though nothing was the matter.

Q smiled. It was one of his favourite things about working on missions with Bond: getting to watch the blond in action. There was an ease to him when he was playing a role, like he was more comfortable being someone else. Psych would have a field day with Bond if they could ever get their hands on him, Q wondered if that should be what he made Bond do when he won the bet.

It didn’t take long for the conversation to descend into chaos. Grisham pulled out a gun, but Bond was faster, ducking and taking Grisham’s accomplice out at the knees. Before he landed, Bond was up, disarming Grisham with a well-placed hit to the wrist.

Q shifted his weight from foot to foot as he watched the fight play out. He itched to do something, to contribute to his agent’s success somehow, but Bond had both men on the ground, unconscious before Q had any thought of setting off the sprinklers.

“If you’re quite finished,” Q snipped out, his fingers rapidly tapping away at the keyboard again. He had to get another team in there to collect the two unconscious men so they could be interrogated later to find out who they were working for.

“Absolutely, Quartermaster, all yours,” Bond said, standing and straightening his jacket before leaving the room.

“I expect you back here within the hour, 007.”

“Yes, sir.”

Q’s fingers faltered on the keyboard, accidentally sending a half-finished email.

“Oh, and Q, I hope you’re ready to pay up.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much opalescentgold for betaing this chapter.  
> You are an absolute godsend!
> 
> Things start to get very interesting now.  
> Enjoy!

Bond eventually swaggered into Q-branch looking far too pleased with himself, a hand in the pocket of his trousers. Q only noticed him because of the quiet that settled over his branch at the entrance. Every time a double-oh entered his department, the minions found a million other things to occupy themselves with. It was difficult to explain to them that the agents were actually the underlings, not Q-branch. It didn’t help that the double-oh’s constantly used their innumerable charms to get what they wanted.

“One minute to spare,” Q noted when Bond was close enough. “Cutting it rather close.”

Bond rested a hip against the desk Q was still working at. He’d spent the last hour typing up a report that detailed his part in the mission. He was briefly interrupted by a call from Mallory. They’d reached a kind of understanding about the precious balance between budgets and needs and operatives being as they were. Keeping their cooperation close helped matters, considerably.

Details were what mattered the most, and Q always found it better to do the reports while everything was still fresh in his mind. It was all to make sure his part of the job was flawless, thus making the head of MI6 easier to deal with. 

“Follow me,” Q said without giving Bond a chance to cut in with a witty response. He led the way to his office. Three of the walls were glass; his desk sat in the centre of the room, facing away from the brick wall at the back. The glass made it easy to keep an eye over his department, but they had an opacity function, making it the perfect place to hide when he didn’t want anyone spying on him.

Once they were inside, Q pulled out a box, placing it on the desk between him and Bond, and gestured for the agent to place any pieces of tech he had left with him in there. While Bond started fishing for the tech, Q pulled up the programme that controlled the windows and darkened them, offering him and his agent a bit more privacy for the lashing Q had planned.

Managing to surprise him, Bond placed his Walther, the earpiece, and the watch all into the box.

“Everything is here,” Q said incredulously, dragging the box to his side of the desk. “You didn’t even throw your Walther at anyone.”

“I am perfectly capable of retaining the tech you give me, Quartermaster,” Bond drawled.

Q snorted. “Past habits indicate that you aren’t, actually.”

“It was one komodo dragon.”

“One too many.”

“I brought this one back, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did.” Q looked up and flashed Bond a smile. “I’m very impressed, 007.”

“And what do I get for bringing everything back?”

Q stilled, his fingers hovering just above the Walther. “Would a lolipop do? For being such a good boy?” he asked mockingly.

“I can think of something else I’d rather suck on.”

“I hope it’s a mint.”

Bond’s eyes widened fractionally, just enough for Q to feel a smug satisfaction that he was getting under the agent’s skin. “Q,” Bond purred, moving around the desk to lean next to him.

Q tracked his movement, clearing his throat as he tried to focus on the box of tech. It was hard, though; the moment Bond rested his hip against the desk, Q was obscenely aware of the warmth radiating off the double-oh. “Yes, 007?” he asked, attempting to feign indifference.

“About my prize,” Bond started and trailed off, drawing Q’s gaze at his hesitance.

Q couldn’t figure out if it was a trick or not, but when he looked up, Bond’s blue eyes were staring straight at him.

“What if I said I wanted to swap it for something else?”

“Then you’d forfeit and I would win.” Q smirked.

“Well then, how about another wager?” Bond suggested, arms folding over his chest.

“What did you have in mind, 007?” Q asked, standing straight and forgetting about the box of tech on the table. This was suddenly more interesting.

“A round in the gun range. Let’s see who’s got a better grip.”

Q raised a brow, flushing slightly. Was that an innuendo? “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“I think I do.”

“Who do you think tests all your weapons, 007? Tanner? Eve?” Q huffed. He was the one frequently testing whatever the research and development team had created. Sometimes, he was briefly assisted by Mallory himself, since the man preferred to keep his hand on the pulse and see where his budget money went.

The multiple guns and explosives were almost always his own ideas, so Q needed to be the first to test them to make sure they worked exactly as he had imagined. None of his double-oh agents had ever bothered to be there for a first test.

“I don’t scare easily, Q. If you’re too afraid...” the agent teased.

“You cannot goad me into a bet.” Giving the agent a once over—totally unnecessarily as he was well acquainted with seeing the blond agent in all his naked glory multiple times on missions—Q wondered how truthful were his own words.

“I think I could goad you into anything,” Bond said, his usual smirk forming, voice going husky and low as that blue gaze settled on Q’s mouth.

“Is that so?” Q's tongue darted out to wet his dry lips.

“Absolutely,” Bond purred.

Q looked at that gorgeously infuriating smirk on those tempting lips, the burning, challenging look in those ice blue eyes, and went hot all over. There was something wrong with the thoughts floating through his head, something he was forgetting, but faced with Bond’s  _ dare _ , Q couldn’t quite remember why it would be a terrible idea. He stepped forward into Bond’s personal space. Their lips were millimeters away, breaths mingling, electric and thrilling. 

Q threw caution to the wind and pressed his lips against Bond’s.

007’s arms closed around his waist immediately, pulling him close. He shivered as Bond’s fingers trailed up his back and into his curls, holding him fast and steady. Q wasn’t passive either, holding onto those adorable dumbo ears as he devoured Bond’s mouth, climbing onto his toes to get closer.

Bond pressed Q against the wall, pushing the breath from his lungs in a rush. A firm thigh pushed between his legs provided a delicious pressure against his straining cock, making him moan helplessly. 

Hot lips trailed down his neck, teeth nipping and nibbling his flesh as Q rutted against Bond’s thigh. He was torn between wanting to clamp his thighs tighter or spread his legs apart, but in the end, he slid his hands lower, down to Bond’s shapely arse, and pulled him closer to get more friction.

Bond bit and sucked a bruise into his neck, tipping Q over the edge far too quickly. He came in his pants like an overzealous teenager.

He was mildly aware of Bond tensing and stilling mere seconds after him. The knowledge that both of them had come from dry humping against a wall pushed a lazy, sated smile onto his lips.

Flying on the post-orgasm high, he wrapped his arms around Bond’s shoulders, nudging his head under the blunt chin. Sweat and cologne filled his senses, the expensive material of the suit and shirt soft against his cheek. Anthony never bought such expensive suits, and—

His brain switched on with that thought. Anthony. His boyfriend of four years. Who he’d just cheated on with his subordinate in the workshop of an MI6 department of which he was the head.

He needed to clear the camera logs immediately.

Feeling him tense up, Bond let him go, allowing Q room to straighten his back and clothes. Their eyes met, and Q opened his mouth, wanting to say something—excuse himself—but Bond had different ideas about his open mouth.

Bond pressed a quick but intense kiss to Q’s lips that left him more breathless than his orgasm had. He stepped back and Q instantly missed the warmth of another body pressed to his. Bond righted his suit, tugging at the cuffs of his shirt, before nodding at Q with a cordial smile. 

“Always a pleasure making bets with you, Quartermaster.” He turned to leave as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn’t just snogged the fuck out of Q, as if he himself didn’t have a growing, uncomfortable, wet feeling in his trousers, cock too sensitive and everything starting to stick together.

Q cursed vehemently the moment the door closed behind Bond. His conscience was catching up with him. He’d been stupid and weak to give in to a pretty smile and a wicked twinkle in Bond’s eye. Bond was going to be insufferable since he had won their little battle. Q was going to have to put in double the effort to get back on top in terms of their working relationship.

Q sighed and ran a hand through his hair, mentally chastising himself for his poor decision making. Never again would he allow himself to be that weak, to give in to Bond, to have such a great lapse in judgment. From now on, their relationship was going to be professional, polite, nothing more than Quatermaster and agent. Q was going to make sure of it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, once again, opalescentgold for your amazing beta work!
> 
> We hope you all enjoy this cheeky lil chapter!

Q stared at Anthony, unable to comprehend how they had gotten into an argument in the first place. Anthony had been home for all of three days before he’d started on how much time Q had been spending at the office, like Q was purposely avoiding him. It frustrated Q to no end that he couldn’t just tell Anthony that he’d actually had four agents in the field who needed him much more than Anthony or Lem—the grumpy little cat he was—did. But he couldn’t, and so they were arguing for the third time in as many days.

“We’ve been over this every day since you’ve been back, can we at least fight about something different?” Q asked, unable to hold back a sigh as he dropped into the armchair.

Anthony stared at him, blue eyes blazing. “I’m glad you find this so trivial.”

“Oh bugger off,” Q bit out, pushing himself out of the chair. “You want to blame me for spending too much time at the office? How about we level the playing field?”

Anthony stepped back as Q got into his space. It wasn’t that Q liked arguing—he mostly tried to avoid it if he could—but Anthony wasn’t letting up and they barely had a week together before he was going to be out of the country again. Q couldn’t believe his boyfriend wanted to spend their precious time together fighting.

“You’re always out of the country. You spend eight months of the year travelling and when you’re back, you have the nerve to complain about  _ my _ hours?” Anger was boiling under his skin, itching for a release, and Q couldn’t stop the words from flowing. “You knew how much I worked when we got together. Nothing’s changed. If it’s too much for you, Anthony, the door is right there,” he spat, arm pointed at the door.

“Q,” Anthony started, his voice softer than it had been when he’d been accusing Q of not caring about him.

Q shook his head and stepped back. “Don’t,” he said, palms out, stopping Anthony’s approach. “Don’t bother.”

Before Anthony could say anything more, Q grabbed his satchel from the hallway and left the flat. Anger and frustration bubbled inside him, desperate for some sort of release. All Q wanted was to go and shoot things but when he stepped foot into Q-branch, he was hounded by minions needing all sorts of things: a few double-oh agents had joined forces and broken something again that only Q could fix, Mallory needed the latest mission report, Tanner wanted a meeting about an upcoming mission.

Q stomped his way to his office, switching the windows to opaque. He didn’t bother to acknowledge anyone in his path through the branch, and the minions seemed to pick up on his mood quickly, if their sudden dispersal was anything to go by.

In the back of his mind, Q knew he shouldn’t be taking his mood out on his employees, but it was hard to remember that when someone insisted on interrupting him every ten minutes.

Q snapped after the tenth question about a basic code. He couldn’t believe he had hired anyone that needed to check their work every ten seconds and he was ready to start culling the ranks.

He flung the door of his office open, prompting all eyes in Q-branch to turn to him. “If one more person comes into my office, I will not be held responsible for how you exit it.” He didn’t bother to gauge the responses from his team, guilt already sitting heavily in his gut. Anthony was the one to blame for his foul mood, not the Q-branchers, but Q couldn’t bring himself to apologise, not just yet anyway.

Q managed to get a full half hour of peace and quiet before someone entered his office. He resolutely kept his head down, fingers tapping away furiously at the keyboard. Maybe he was pressing them harder than he needed to, but Q wanted to get his point across. Whoever had bothered to disturb him would get one chance to get the hell out before he did something he, and the intruder, was most definitely going to regret.

His fingers stilled the moment a box was pushed into his periphery. The only thought that fluttered through his mind was ‘this isn’t tea,’ and he raised his head, ready to lay into whoever had interrupted him. The barb caught in his throat when his eyes landed on 007. “What are you doing here?”

“Can’t I visit my quartermaster?” Bond asked far too innocently.

“What do you want, 007?”

“I just wanted to show my... appreciation for your dedication to your job.”

Q chose to ignore the slight pause, instead pulling the box to him and opening it. His ears burned as he stared at what was nestled amongst a bunch of tissue paper. “What are you playing at?”

“You looked like you could use a little ‘hands-free’ fun.”

Q stood from his chair, pushing it back with more force than was necessary. “You have some nerve, coming in here with this,” Q fumed and picked up the box, shoving it into the agent’s hands as he paced away from him. “I am your superior officer; you cannot do things like this and expect to get away with it.”

“Of course, sir. I understand completely.”

Q stiffened at the word, his skin prickling as he felt Bond’s assessing gaze on him. “Get out,” Q said, his voice low as he tried to pretend he wasn’t affected by a stupid little word, that it didn’t thrill and excite him when Bond called him that.

Bond silently left the office, leaving Q to fume alone.

He paced, a desperate attempt to get rid of the pent up energy coursing through him. Bond had some nerve giving him that  _ thing _ and thinking he wanted it, that he would use it. He had made such a mistake the last time Bond was in Q’s office, and clearly the agent wasn’t going to let it go. He had to figure out how to get the message across: he wasn’t available.

The moment his thoughts went to Anthony, Q froze. The argument they’d had this morning was still unresolved, and while Anthony had tried to get in touch, Q had ignored all of his calls. He wasn’t willing to let it go, not when he was accused of something so trivial. Anthony had known about his ridiculous hours when they had started dating; he wasn’t sure why it was such a problem now.

“Q?”

He looked up, ready to lay into another person who wasn’t willing to just let him be, but the moment Q’s eyes landed on the intruder, a smile softened his face. “Hello, Moneypenny. What can I do for you?”

“How long do you have?” she asked, a smirk tugging at her lips.

“For you, all day. Pity you’re not my type.” Despite his mood, Q couldn’t stop himself from playing with Eve. She was his best friend and somehow just having her in the same room as him made him feel calmer.

“Has something happened?” Eve moved around Q’s office. If he didn’t know her better, Q would have said she was actually curious in the pieces of art on his walls, but Q did know her. She was trying to lull him into some sense of security so he’d spill his guts.

“What makes you ask that?” he asked, trying vainly to be obtuse.

“It’s strangely quiet in Q-branch today. The minions seem more nervous than usual.”

Q sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s nothing,” he muttered and returned to his computer, a new email having popped up.

He opened it, eyes skimming over the message from Tanner asking for an update on the new tracking system Q was developing as Eve continued to meander through his office.

“Oh, my. Gifted, isn’t he?” 

Q looked up and found Moneypenny peering into the box that held 007’s gift. He was positive Bond had walked out with it, but all signs pointed to that being the wrong assumption. He didn’t want to ask how Eve knew exactly who the unusual gift was from.

“Or just boasting,” he mumbled, knowing otherwise and snatching the box away, a blush high on his cheeks.

“I don’t think so. He  _ is _ acting like a big dick; he must get it from somewhere.”

“Or he’s just faking it.” 

Eve chuckled. “Well, either way, your new pink friend will have to wait—”

“Hell no, I’m not taking it home or even using it.”

“You promised me drinks, and I’m cashing in tonight,” she said, effortlessly changing the topic.

Q opened his mouth to protest, but his mind flitted back to Anthony and the fight they were still in. What was the point of going home when that was waiting for him? Drinks would do him good, especially with Eve. She wouldn’t mind if he vented about Anthony or 007 or the latest cuts to his budget. In fact, she would encourage the venting, and when he was finally too drunk to stand, would send him home to sleep and most likely wake up still drunk.

“Fine,” he said, making it seem as though it was a hardship. “Fetch me at seventeen hundred.” His tone was a stern dismissal, but Eve knew better and smiled before leaving his office without further comment.

Q knew she was saving up all her questions for when he was too drunk to hold back the truth. He wished he minded, but Q was just happy to have an excuse to stay out of the flat longer. He was going to have to face Anthony sooner or later, but he figured later was the best option. The anger from that morning was still itching to break free and Q knew it would end in another argument.

Not going home was the right choice.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see, the tags have been updated again!  
> Sorry these weren't all put in when the fic first went up, things have just been getting away from us!  
> These boys like playing their own little games.
> 
> Thank you, once again, opalescentgold for your amazing beta work. We would be lost without you.

“But really, he’s gone more than I am, and he blames  _ me _ ?” Q asked, waving his mostly empty glass at Eve.

They were three drinks into their evening, the alcohol loosening Q’s tongue and bringing his anger to the forefront. Eve just let him rant though, his thoughts all merging into one long complaint that had Eve smiling and occasionally nodding.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d talked for but when a few members of Q-branch slipped into the booth on Eve’s side, Q clamped his mouth shut. It wasn’t proper for his employees to see him trollied. He was seriously considering getting up and making a quick escape when someone else slid into the booth, on his side this time. 

Q’s mouth opened and shut a few times, flapping uselessly as he stared at Bond. “What are you doing here?” he asked, the question tumbling from his lips before he could catch it.

“I was invited.”

Q hummed, focusing his gaze on the empty glass in front of him. When had he finished his drink? How many had he had now? He couldn’t remember and that was a problem. Normally that would be a sign for Q to stop, but Bond slid a full glass of his guilty pleasure—a tequila sunrise with extra sugar on the sides and a tiny umbrella—over to him and Q couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face. He allowed himself the frivolous drink only once in awhile and hadn’t realised the double-oh knew what he liked.

“Thank you,” he said just before wrapping his lips around the straw of his drink, taking stock of the way Bond’s eyes tracked the movement.

Conversation flowed around him. The Q-branchers chatting easily with Eve and Bond as they consumed more and more drinks. Q managed to slow his drinking down, nursing the one Bond had given him when he first arrived. He also kept his mouth shut, any complaints of Anthony forgotten as Bond shifted closer over the course of the evening, their thighs pressing together. The solid presence of the agent calmed something in Q and he found himself leaning into Bond just a little before Eve caught his eye, a dangerous glint threatening to make a comment.

“I need the loo,” he muttered, pushing Bond to get out of the booth.

When he was in the bathroom, Q realised he actually did need to go. He relieved himself, sighing contentedly as the pressure on his bladder eased.

“You really shouldn’t drink this much,” a voice said, hot breath tickling Q’s ear and making him jump.

“Oh sod off, Bond,” Q mumbled, zipping up his pants and moving to the row of sinks.

“That’s the first time you’ve called me that,” Bond pointed out as he leaned against the wall, arms crossed casually over his chest.

Q couldn’t tear his eyes away through the mirror, washing his hands haphazardly as he attempted to decipher what Bond meant.

At his puzzled expression, Bond added, “My name. You always use my designation.”

Q turned around, resting against the sink he’d used as he wiped his hands on his pants, smearing water and a little soap on them. “Do I?”

Bond nodded, eyes tracking every tiny move Q made.

“Did you want some privacy?” Q asked, perfectly aware that the agent wasn’t shy in the slightest.

“I’d rather you give me something else,” Bond said, his voice pitched low, knowing full well what it did to Q.

Q coughed, trying to cover the sudden warmth flowing through him. “Oh?”

“Don’t play innocent, Q.” Bond closed the gap between them, grabbing Q and walking him backwards till he was pressed against the wall, an exact repeat of what had happened in Q’s office.

Bond kissed his way along Q’s jaw, down his neck to nibble at the exposed flesh just above his collar.

Q moaned, fingers gripping at Bond’s shoulders, trying to find purchase. His head was swimming with alcohol and arousal, and he was unsure which was taking precedence over the other. “I have a boyfriend,” he groaned as Bond tugged at his shirt, nipping along Q’s collarbone. “Anthony. He’s got pretty blue eyes, like yours.”

“Does he now?” Bond asked, travelling back to Q’s neck. “And does he have a wicked,” Bond nibbled at the underside of Q’s chin, “mouth like me too?” Bond licked and sucked at the spot he bit. Q knew there was going to be a mark but he couldn’t bring himself to care when it felt that good.

Bond’s lips moved up, pressing a devouring kiss to his mouth that left Q breathless and needy. He tried to follow the lips when they pulled away, but a hand cupped his jaw, holding him in place with the barest hint of pressure.

Q opened his eyes slow and heavy as he met the blue gaze that was staring intently at him.

“I want to see what you're willing to lose,” Bond whispered against his mouth, and some part of Q understood that the agent was toying with him, enjoying the fact Q was such a wanton little thing when he had a perfectly nice boyfriend waiting for him at home. 

But at this very moment, feeling the heat of that well-muscled body, that mouth kissing him oh so perfectly, and that hard cock pressed alongside his—separated by layers of totally unnecessary clothes—he didn’t give a damn.

“Take me home,” he moaned.

Bond grinned, one hand curled in Q’s hair. “Can you wait that long?” he asked, licking a stripe up Q’s neck.

“You are not fucking me in a public bathroom.” Q tried to remain level-headed, tried to get himself under control, but Bond pressed a thigh between his legs. The sudden pressure against his erection sent all rational thought from his head. Maybe a public bathroom wouldn’t be so bad.

“You’d let me, wouldn’t you?”

Q shook his head, feebly trying to regain some control over himself. It was futile, really, especially with the way Bond was nibbling at his ear. “Please,” he whispered, unsure if he was asking for Bond to take him in the bathroom or home.

“As you wish,” Bond hummed into Q’s ear, giving it one last tug before pulling Q from the bathroom.

Q followed, gripping Bond’s hand like a lifeline as they hurried through the kitchen and out a backdoor. Before he knew it, Bond was pushing him into a black cab and giving an address to the driver.

Q didn’t pay much attention to what Bond said, more focused on getting his hands back on the well-built agent. It was easier said than done, though. Bond was determined to push Q away every time he managed to get his hands to the fly of Bond’s trousers. “Bond,” he pleaded.

“Patience, Q. It’ll be worth the wait.” 

Q huffed, slumping back against the leather seat. 

“Don’t pout,” Bond said, tracing a finger along the shell of Q’s ear.

Q turned, faster than Bond could pull away, and nipped at the finger. He revelled in the way Bond’s eyes widened as he bit harder. There were indents in the flesh when Q released the finger. He gave Bond all of five seconds before climbing into his lap, ignoring the startled protests from the driver.

Bond muttered a warning before Q claimed his mouth. It was a desperate kiss, the pent up tension from the bathroom coming back with a vengeance.

Q's hands travelled to Bond's collar, deft fingers loosening the tie and undoing the buttons, desperately trying to reach the bare skin underneath. He got as far as the middle of the shirt before Bond grabbed Q’s hands, pinning them behind his back to stop the sloppy exploration. It didn’t stop Q from grinding his arse against Bond’s growing erection and drawing a groan from him.

Just when Bond started to press his hips up against Q in retaliation, the driver yelled at them, swearing at them both until they stumbled from the cab. Thankfully he had dropped them at their destination rather than some random street corner.

Bond steadied Q so he managed to not fall face first into the gutter, though he did stare at the building in front of him, brows furrowing as he tried to remember how to balance without Bond holding him up.

The jingling of keys dragged Q’s attention from the facade to the agent standing at the door. He moved behind Bond, pressing against him and trying to mouth at the exposed flesh just above Bond’s collar. 

Bond was faster though, spinning Q around and ushering him inside, then up the stairs.

Q stumbled a few times, toes catching on the steps, but Bond managed to steady him before he could do any real damage to himself. He was sure he was going to be thoroughly embarrassed in the morning, but at that moment, Q couldn’t have cared less. All he wanted was to get Bond into bed.

“Would you like a drink?”

“No.” Q shook his head, advancing on Bond. “I want you out of all these clothes so you can fuck me properly, 007.”

They looked at each other for a moment, the tension building between them. The moment snapped and their lips met in a crash of desperation as Q tugged at Bond’s shirt, which was still half open. He managed to undo the rest of the buttons, sighing into Bond’s mouth as his hands finally found the warm skin he craved.

“Finally,” Q muttered, breaking the kiss to take in the muscled chest. He’d seen it before, several times, but this was different. Bond was in front of him, chest heaving, erection pressing against his pants, and it was all because of Q. It made him greedy, made Q want to see just how much more he could do to Bond, how much it might take to make the unflappable agent break.

Q dove back in, pushing both the shirt and coat off at the same time. Neither he nor Bond stopped to fold the clothing, both too busy trying to press their bodies closer. Q wanted to be closer, needed to feel skin on skin, and was lamenting the fact that he had worn three layers of clothing.

Q moaned, loud and wanton when Bond’s hand slipped under his shirt and teased his nipple.

Bond took his chance with Q distracted and pushed him backwards, hands guiding Q where he wanted him. All of Q’s ridiculous layers were swiftly removed: coat, cardigan, and button-up. Bond plucked Q’s glasses from his nose, taking a precious moment to place them carefully on a side table when Q made a distressed noise.

Q wanted to protest being manhandled, but there was something about the way Bond’s hands moving over his bare skin that shut Q’s brain down. He could barely think past the want that sparked through him every time Bond’s fingers skimmed over his skin.

Somehow his trousers ended up by his ankles, tripping him ungracefully and making him giggle.

“Careful,” Bond murmured, hands hot against Q’s sides as they steadied him.

Instead of making Q slow down, the feeling of Bond finally touching his bare skin sent Q into overdrive. He spun around and stepped out of his trousers, grabbing at Bond’s shoulders. There were so many things he wanted to do but Q couldn’t decide what he needed first. He settled for pulling Bond in for a searing kiss. He slid his hands down Bond’s shoulders, feeling firm muscles as their lips moved against each other. He was determined to feel every inch of the dangerous killing machine.

Q kissed his way down Bond’s body, licking and sucking as he knelt on the floor. He unzipped Bond’s trousers and pushed them to the floor as Bond slipped off his shoes.

Q sat back on his heels, taking a moment to admire the beautiful man in front of him. “Fuck,” he breathed, reaching out to run his fingers up Bond’s inner thighs.

His fingers barely brushed the hem of Bond’s pants before he was being hauled up and pressed against the nearest wall. Bond undid the buttons of Q’s shirt, leaving it open as his large hands slid around Q’s waist, lifting him off the ground to gain better access to Q’s neck.

Q moaned, head tipping back against the wall, as he wrapped his legs around Bond. “Yes,” he hissed, fingers scratching through Bond’s short hair. “Bed. Take me to bed, Bond.”

Q didn’t need to say it twice. Bond adjusted his grip, eliciting a small yelp from Q when he was hoisted higher, cock sliding against that firm stomach, so Bond could carry him to the bedroom. He wanted to demand to be put down, complain about being carried like some damn Bond girl, but it thrilled him. Bond was showing off how strong he was and Q wanted more, wanted to feel every bit of that strength, wanted Bond to fuck him.

Bond threw Q onto the bed, the sudden freefall shocking Q out of his lust-addled state.

“You’re a prat,” Q huffed, crawling backwards to settle himself against the pillows.

“And you’re a little minx,” Bond growled, stalking up the bed and kissing his way up Q’s body until he was pressed against Q completely, their clothed erections brushing against each other. The friction was a delicious addition to the way Bond was kissing him.

Q wriggled as he pushed his pants down, desperately needing all barriers gone.

Bond broke the kiss with a chuckle and helped Q out of his pants before climbing off the bed to shimmy out of his own.

Q stared, licking his lips as Bond exposed himself. It was the first time he was getting to see Bond’s cock, and it was better than Q had imagined.

Bond smirked at him and opened the bedside drawer, grabbing a condom and bottle of lube before climbing back on top of Q, kissing him languidly.

It was a softer kiss this time, like they had all the time in the world. Q didn’t want that, though. It was all moving far too slowly for his liking and so he pressed his hips up, grinding his erection against Bond’s hip to get him to move faster. Luckily Bond was of the same mind, his fingers already wet and pressing against Q’s hole.

He shivered, wondering how he’d missed the click of the lid but unable to bring himself to care as Bond pressed a finger in. “Fuck,” Q hissed, grabbing at Bond’s shoulders, fingers digging in a little.

It had been too long since Q had had the pleasure of being penetrated and the slight burn was exactly what he wanted. He tried to urge Bond to go faster, to push him to his limits, but words were failing him and all he managed to do was moan as a second pressed into him.

Bond twisted his fingers, wringing breathy sounds from Q but it was too slow. Bond was taking his time, and it wasn’t what Q wanted. He needed it fast and hard, needed to be taken without a second thought.

Q twisted out of Bond's grip and pushed him backwards, straddling him with a cheeky grin. Q wriggled his hips to get Bond’s hard cock nestled between his arse cheeks. He’d missed the feeling of having an erection beneath him, missed being able to reduce someone to an incoherent mess.

Bond’s hands fluttered to Q’s thighs, kneading them encouragingly. Q couldn’t stop the smirk that spread across his lips at the realisation that Bond liked him taking charge. He wondered how far he could push that, how far he could test the limits of Bond’s willingness to let someone else lead.

“Anytime you’re ready, Quartermaster,” Bond said, his voice still far too unaffected for Q’s liking.

Q huffed as he pressed his hands against Bond’s chest for leverage, grinding his hips down and savouring the way Bond hissed as his cock slid between Q’s cheeks. “Terribly sorry, 007,” he panted. “Did you think you were in charge?”

“Bloody tease.”

Q’s smirk lasted a few seconds before Bond’s fingers were pressing into him again, two of them sinking in with no resistance. Q groaned at the sudden intrusion, leaning forward to give Bond better access to open him up. He didn't need much prep, really. Q was pleasantly drunk—basically sloshed—and he was so turned on he could barely think. His cock rubbed against Bond’s muscled stomach, leaking and leaving a sticky trail as he rocked against the fingers stretching him. It wasn’t enough. What he really wanted was to feel Bond's thick cock spreading him open.

“Condom,” he panted, barely getting the word out. He was desperate, wanted Bond inside him, but he couldn’t remember if Bond had put one on already.

“Up,” Bond said, pulling his fingers out so Q could shuffle back on his unsteady legs, giving Bond room to tear the condom wrapper with his teeth and roll it on himself.

Q watched eagerly, grabbing the lube and slicking Bond up quickly before climbing onto him again, lining up the cock he had been dreaming about since Bond had made him come in his pants and sinking down. Both Bond and Q moaned as he bottomed out.

It had been so long since Q had been this full; he took a few moments to breathe, to get used to the stretch.

“Move,” Bond muttered, his fingers digging into Q’s hips hard enough to bruise.

Instead of listening, Q grinned down at him, licking his lips as he sat back, moaning a little as the cock inside him pressed deeper.

“Q,” Bond begged.

Q could feel him trembling, could feel how hard Bond was working to contain himself. It was fuel for the fire inside him. Q ran his hands up to his nipples, flicking and tugging at them as he slowly started to rock his hips. “Fuck, you’re a shit, Bond, giving me a dildo instead of your cock,” Q complained, head thrown back as he started to move, circling his hips and playing with the cock deep inside him. The movements drew delicious groans from Bond, and Q barely lasted a minute before he let go of the teasing game. He couldn’t resist, couldn’t stop himself from driving down onto Bond’s cock. It felt too good when Bond’s hips met his arse in a harsh thrust.

Q quickly found his rhythm faltering; he was mostly being controlled by Bond’s hands lifting and pulling him down. It was perfect; Q could feel his orgasm building inside him, and he wanted to chase it, wanted to help find his release, but he was too uncoordinated and couldn’t form words to tell Bond what he wanted.

Q whimpered when Bond sat up, wrapping his arms around Q’s waist and pulling him close.

“Hold on,” he whispered, breath hot against Q’s ear. It was the only warning he got before Bond was tipping him back and pressing him into the mattress.

In this new position, it didn’t take Bond long to find Q’s prostate, drawing a loud, desperate cry from him. “There, right there.” Q grabbed at Bond’s shoulders, pulling him in for a messy kiss. 

Bond broke the kiss, leaning back and grabbing Q’s legs to press them higher for a better angle.

The sound of flesh meeting flesh filled the air, punctuated by moans and curses from Q. He was so close to coming he could feel it building higher and higher with every thrust. “Please,” he whined, clutching at Bond as he came, painting his stomach in hot spurts as Bond continued to press him into the mattress. Three more thrusts and Bond’s hips stuttered as he followed Q over the edge with a breathy moan.

Q panted, wincing slightly as Bond pulled out. He missed the feeling of being so full, but the sudden rush of cool air was pleasing and Q curled in on himself, not caring in the slightest about the cooling come on his stomach. He was vaguely aware of being wiped down and tucked into the bed, but he was too blissed out from his orgasm to put up a fight. He’d deal with Bond later after he’d had a few minutes to recover. It was the last thought he had before sleep pulled him under.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short and sweet one to tide you over this week!  
> Thank you opal for looking over this beast again. You are honestly a miracle worker!

Hazy light filtered through Q’s eyelids, turning the world a disgusting fleshy red. He groaned, covering his eyes with a hand as he slowly opened them. His head pounded horribly along with his heartbeat, reminding him that he’d drunk far too much the previous night.

A soft snuffle alerted Q to someone beside him. He rolled over, closing his eyes and reaching out. He liked morning cuddles, liked snuggling in close to Anthony and reminding himself of the solid warmth of his partner. But when his hand met solid muscle, his eyes flew open, sitting up far too fast and making his head spin.

It wasn’t Anthony in bed next to him. He was pretty damn sure Anthony wasn’t actually going to be anywhere in the flat since it definitely wasn’t the flat they owned together. The word ‘no’ repeated in his head as he stared at Bond, desperately trying to remember how the hell he had ended up in the double-oh’s bed without any clothes on and the sheets sticking to him, a soft, pleasant ache in his backside.

Q shuffled back in the bed, wincing as the sheet ripped from his stomach. He had to get out of there as fast and quiet as he could possibly manage. He had no real idea how lightly Bond slept, but since he was a deadly double-oh, Q had to imagine the slightest noise would wake him up. So Q gingerly climbed out of the bed, trying to ease off it to reduce the movement, and tiptoed from the room.

It was difficult to see without his glasses, but he managed to pick his way through the flat, finding his clothes strewn over the hallway without any regard to what state they were left in. He found his glasses sitting on top of the side table in the corridor, his shirt laying close by on the floor.   
  
When his vision was properly back, he took in his surroundings. There really wasn’t much here—a little open kitchenette; a living room hosting only a red couch, an armchair, a television, a coffee table, and opened carton boxes littered the floor. Everything was more or less covered or hosting books. A lot of them.

There wasn’t anything else in the space; no decorations save two paintings, but those weren’t hung. There were propped on the wall near the television, overlapping each other. He wondered how long Bond had been living here for it to look so sparse. It looked like the man had moved in a week before, but knowing Bond and his general inability to put anything away, Q figured the flat must have looked that way for months.

Q didn’t dare to go back to the bedroom—he’d already risked enough lingering in the living room—so he gathered up his clothes and dressed quickly. When he slipped his jacket on, he patted the pockets, making sure his wallet and phone were still where he left them. There was never enough caution when dealing with a double-oh. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror when he went to leave and spotted the big hickey on his neck. Why did he have to bruise so easily? There was no way he could go home now.

He left the flat as quietly as he could, which still made him sure Bond had woken up at some point. It wasn’t until he was a block away that Q pulled out his phone, cursing when he finally saw the thirty missed calls and fifteen text messages from Anthony. There was even one from Eve. “Fuck,” he muttered at his phone. Bloody woman. She wouldn’t believe that Bond had only escorted him home because he’d had too much to drink, especially not with the teasing message she’d sent:  _ ‘You’re welcome. Hope you enjoyed the real thing more than you will the pink silicone.’ _

Q dialled his voicemail, listening to Anthony’s apologies, the man begging him to come home. Q felt horrible, the feeling only growing as he made his way through all thirty of the messages. He had to call Anthony back and find some way to fix what he had broken. Maybe they could get out of London for a few days, just be alone. But for now, work was calling him in again, and Anthony was leaving that evening.

After a quick stop to Primark for some clean clothes, Q made his way to his beloved Q-branch, determined to forget everything about the previous night.

He still had that baby project of a little, easily transported missile launcher that could double as a gps tracker. After looking at his phone to check the time, he was quite sure that Mallory would already be in the office to sign off on the paperwork and a little budget bonus.

Q wondered if maybe Mallory would be willing to test it with him for awhile. There was nothing like a fresh pair of eyes on a project to point out all the faults, and Mallory was nothing if not thorough. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much opal! I'm sorry for all the smut you're betaing for this fic.

“I will never get over the fact that the Mona Lisa is so bloody small,” Q complained again as they left the Louvre.

After the disastrous evening Q had spent at Bond's, he had made sure he was the perfect boyfriend. He and Anthony had spent hours talking, getting to the bottom of their issues, and had decided on a quick little holiday across the Channel.

They had spent most of the morning strolling through the gallery, admiring the paintings and sculptures. It had been so long since Q had had the pleasure of being in Paris, and he hadn’t wanted to miss the opportunity to explore the Louvre again.

“Come on, it’s not that small,” Anthony countered, looping his arm through Q’s.

They had no plans for the rest of their day. It was their second day in Paris, and Q was actually enjoying not having any plans. It hadn’t been hard wrangling the time off from MI6. In fact, Mallory had basically pushed him out the doors himself after their little weekly catch up over biscuits and tea—a proper five o’clock as Q often joked—in his office. He really did enjoy spending time with the man, as, after the first initial period of wariness, they had found that they had very similar views and favoured some of the same pastimes—poetry, good tea and a knack for weaponry.

Paris was breathtaking, the air crisp with the first breath of spring and the only thing Q really missed while away from Q-branch were all his gadgets. Anthony had limited him to two pieces of tech for their whole trip, one of which _had_ to be his mobile just in case anyone at MI6 needed to get in touch. Q had threatened his minions with menial labour for two months if they bothered him, though, so he was pretty optimistic about having a completely uninterrupted holiday with his boyfriend.

“They make it out to be this amazing piece of art, it’s studied worldwide, and I walked right past it. The least they could do is have a sign ‘the Mona Lisa is here.’” It was a point he’d tried to make before and Anthony laughed as he always did. Q bristled a little. His ideas were genius, and no one at MI6 dared laugh at him.

“Would you like to make a formal complaint?” Anthony asked with a small laugh, playfully pushing Q’s shoulder.

He wasn’t used to this playful nature in Anthony, the teasing lilt to his voice, and Q wasn’t entirely sure how to handle it. It was nice, seeing Anthony smiling again, seeing the spark in those clear blue eyes again. Maybe he could handle a little teasing as long as he got to see his boyfriend’s face lit up like that.

“Let’s get you a waffle,” Anthony suggested, pulling Q along.

They walked beside the Seine, chatting amiably as they headed for the Eiffel Tower. Q had been up it several times before. It was magical at night, seeing the twinkling lights of the city below, but the novelty really had worn off. Last time they’d been in Paris together, they’d stumbled across a quaint little store on the bank of the Seine that sold the most delicious Belgian Waffles slathered in a rich dark chocolate. It had quickly become Q’s favourite spot in the whole city.

Q devoured his waffle, ordering a second before Anthony was halfway through his first. The impulse buy earned Q a smile, which made Q beam in return. He had forgotten how fun it could be to not have to worry about someone else’s safety, to not have to try and stay awake for days on end. It did make him a little bitter that he couldn’t have this every day. He loved his job, loved being a part of saving England from hidden threats, but sometimes he wondered if it was all worth it. It was especially hard when he got to have these magical days with Anthony.

“Let’s go back to the hotel,” Q said once they’d both finished their waffles.

Anthony looked at him, his head tipped in a question.

Q smiled and grabbed Anthony by the hand. Their hotel wasn’t actually too far away from the Eiffel tower so the walk was short and filled with laughter, the chocolate making Q a little hyper. He was a total sugar fiend, but Q still didn’t handle the high well. He chased Anthony to the front door of the hotel, managing only to control himself when he got a sharp look from the doorman.

Q contained his childlike glee right up until the elevator doors closed with them inside. He took his chance and pounced on Anthony, pressing him against the wall. They stood, staring, breathing each other’s air. Q could see the desire building inside his boyfriend, could feel it building inside himself, and while he was totally for public displays of affection, Q took a different tact. He ran his hands up Anthony’s sides all the way up until he was tickling Anthony’s armpits.

It was the one thing Anthony let him get away with, tickling him, as long as Q stopped fairly quickly. He only kept tickling for a few short seconds before pressing his body against Anthony, resting his head in the crook of his boyfriend’s neck.

“Thank you,” Q mumbled into the soft skin.

“For what?” Anthony asked, slightly out of breath as he wrapped his arms around Q.

“For coming to Paris with me.”

The doors dinged open and they reluctantly pulled away from one another, holding hands as they walked to their room. It was a short distance, Q liked to be close to exits—a habit built from many field missions he had been forced on—and always kept a spare room key on him. There was always a chance he’d need to make a quick getaway.

“What do you want to do for the rest of the day?” Anthony asked as he threw himself on the bed.

It was quite possibly the most comfortable bed Q had ever slept in, and while he was tempted to throw himself onto it as well, he desperately wanted to shower.

“You, preferably a couple of times in a row,” Q suggested with a playful smirk and a wink, shrugging out of his jacket and throwing it over the chaise at the foot of the bed. “Let’s stay in and order ridiculous amounts of room service.”

Anthony smiled over at him. “Anything you want, love.”

The endearment warmed Q, the tingly feeling building from his heart and working its way out. He couldn’t remember being happier, couldn’t remember why he had ever wanted anyone other than Anthony. He climbed onto the bed, straddling Anthony’s thighs, and pressed a deep kiss to his lips.

Anthony’s hands went to Q’s hips, drawing him down.

Desire built inside Q as the kiss turned rough, Anthony nipping at Q’s lower lip. Q couldn’t stop himself from pressing his whole body against Anthony. He loved the feel of Anthony’s firm body beneath his, all Q’s for the taking. Anthony was always stepping back and allowing him to take the lead, to take pleasure exactly how he wanted. That was the real difference between Anthony and Bond.

With the Bond, it was a constant struggle, a fight, Bond pushing him, trying to make him bend to his will, and mostly succeeding. It was a thrill in of itself to find someone who was strong enough to make him submit—not by physical strength but by the strength of their character—and Q had most definitely submitted. He’d allowed himself to be drawn in and molded by desire and passion, the defeat making him feel cherished and happy and thoroughly pleased, nothing bitter about the experience. There was something about Bond that made him want to give in every single time.

Q rushed to get off Anthony, Bond’s sudden invasion of his thoughts more efficient at killing his erection than a cold shower.

“Q?” Anthony asked, slightly breathless.

Q couldn’t look at him. Instead, he got up and walked straight to the bathroom, letting the door slam shut behind him. How had thoughts of Bond followed him to another country? It was ridiculous. He loved Anthony, not Bond. There was no reason to be thinking of him when Q was supposed to be being buggered until he forgot his own name. Now he was hiding in a bathroom, too ashamed to look his boyfriend in the eye. What was he going to do?

He stripped off quickly, letting his clothes crumple on the tiles. If he washed Bond from his skin, from his thoughts, maybe that would bring back the content feeling he’d had just minutes before.

The shower was divine, the water the perfect temperature for Q. It was hot but not scalding, just right to scrub the guilt from his skin.

It couldn’t have been more than two minutes before Anthony climbed into the shower with Q, pressing himself against Q’s back.

“What’s wrong, duck?” he asked, pressing a kiss at the spot where Q’s hair curled away from the nape of his neck.

Q shook his head, eyes scrunched shut against the pounding water. He had shoved his head under the water when the bathroom door opened. Q couldn’t quite figure out if he was hiding because he’d been thinking of Bond and ruining the lovely moment he’d been having with his boyfriend or because he actually missed the ridiculous agent. That was possibly worse than actually knowing what was wrong. At least then he’d have an answer. This uncertainty was eating away at Q, especially since he had no reason to be uncertain.

Anthony had taken time off work to go on this spontaneous trip with Q. It was exactly what Q had wanted: time alone with Anthony without any distractions from MI6. So why was he thinking of Bond?

Q turned around, grabbing Anthony’s face and pressing their lips together in a bruising kiss. He licked his way into Anthony’s mouth, desperate to fill his mind with only the man standing in front of him.

Anthony responded, fingers digging into Q’s hips as he pulled them closer together. Anthony was already hard, his erection sliding against Q’s slowly filling cock.

Q slid his fingers through Anthony’s hair, gripping and holding on tight as the kiss deepened. He happily would have continued kissing Anthony if his hands hadn't wandered around to Q’s arse, fingers massaging his cheeks.

Q broke the kiss with a moan, thrusting his hips against Anthony. “Please.”

Anthony smiled at Q, letting his fingers dip between Q’s cheeks teasingly and drawing another moan from him.

Usually he liked to be teased, to be brought to the brink but not allowed the release. But all Q wanted right then was to be taken care of, to be brought to the edge with a soft hand and followed as he lost himself to sensation. Somehow, Anthony knew that and so he gave Q one last kiss before stepping away to get the soap.

Q reached for Anthony, missing the firm body pressed against his. The action brought a smile to Anthony’s lips, and he returned to Q, hands soapy, and started to clean Q with a reverence he wasn’t used to. Q wondered if Anthony could somehow tell what was wrong with Q and was trying to make him realise that Anthony was the better man for him. That Anthony would always be there to offer Q anything and everything he needed. Bond would never do that for him.

Q closed his eyes tightly and leaned against the wall, head tipping back. Thankfully, Anthony took that as a good sign rather than one of internal conflict. He continued to clean Q, his hands soft but diligent as he made sure every inch of Q was clean, though he never strayed to Q’s cock—which had deflated just a little at the thought of Bond—or his hole.

When Q was rinsed off, Anthony pressed Q up against the wall again, kissing him again. The kiss was more determined, tongue slipping into Q’s mouth, as Anthony slid their erections together. Q’s cock filled again as Anthony took his breath—and thoughts—away.

Anthony kissed his way down Q’s body, nipping at one nipple as he travelled down, sinking onto his knees to take Q’s cock into his mouth.

At the warmth, Q groaned, fingers finding Anthony’s hair and clutching tight. The thought that he couldn’t do that with Bond flickered through Q’s mind briefly before he clamped down on it, forcing himself to focus on the actual man on his knees before him.

Anthony circled a finger around Q’s hole teasingly before pressing in to the first knuckle as he swallowed Q’s cock to the hilt.

Q groaned at the dual sensations, the finger inside him was dry but with Anthony hollowing out his cheeks, he couldn’t find himself caring. “Ant,” he groaned. “Ant, if you keep that up, I’m gonna come.”

Anthony pulled off Q’s cock with a pop, grinning as he pulled his finger out. “Not yet. I’m not done with you,” he said, standing up and turning the shower off.

He helped Q out of the shower, towelling him off with diligent efficiency. No part of Q was wet when Anthony finally led him out into the bedroom and laid him on the bed. He kissed his way up Q’s body, starting at an ankle and raising it to his lips as he watched Q.

It was hard to maintain eye contact as Anthony kissed his way up Q’s leg, pressing his lips to the crook of Q’s knee with such care he actually shivered. This was what he’d missed, the love and affection that Anthony gave him without abandon, the care with which he was handled. Warmth spread from Q’s chest, more from the tenderness than from arousal—though that was still building steadily as Anthony kissed past his cock without even a hint of breath touching it.

Q’s fingers curled into the duvet beneath him as Anthony continued his path up Q leisurely, lips tickling Q’s quivering stomach and licking each nipple playfully.

It was exquisite torture, Anthony taking his time, but Q needed him. His cock was aching, leaking against his stomach and twitching with every press of Anthony’s lips to his skin. He was just shy of begging Anthony to take him when Anthony kissed up Q’s neck, scraping his teeth along Q’s jaw before finally pressing their lips together. The kiss was slow, soft, sensual, as Anthony’s hands slid down Q’s body, parting his thighs to settle between them properly.

Q wrapped his arms around Anthony’s shoulders, pulling him down and closer. He wanted to have the other man as close to him as possible, wanted to feel the solid weight of another person against him and be reminded that he wasn’t alone, that he was loved and cherished.

A wet finger circled his hole, sliding in to the first knuckle slowly. Q broke the kiss with a moan, his head digging back into the mattress as Anthony pressed deeper, biting at Q’s neck. There was going to be a mark later but Q didn’t care, couldn’t care, as Anthony slowly started to fuck him with a finger.

It had been too long since they’d been intimate, been joined like they were, and Q had almost forgotten how caring a partner Anthony was. He wanted to say something, say how he had missed feeling that way with Anthony, but he couldn’t form words. All Q could manage was to tighten his grip on Anthony as a second finger pressed into him.

The burn wasn’t bad because Anthony was taking the time to make sure Q was properly prepared. From the way Anthony was rutting against Q’s thigh, he knew it was taking every ounce of patience Anthony had to refrain from taking Q in a hurry.

“I’m ready,” Q panted, opening his eyes to look at his boyfriend, to convince him he was alright.

“Q.” Anthony’s fingers stilled inside him, a questioning look in his eyes.

“Please,” Q whispered.

Anthony slipped his fingers out and grabbed a condom, tearing the packet and rolling in on himself as Q watched. Usually Q liked to help with this part, but they were both too impatient to worry about anymore foreplay.

Q wiggled his hips in a bid to get Anthony to hurry up. He was all for toying with people, playing and having fun, but he wanted Anthony in him, wanted to feel the stretch. Thankfully, Anthony took the hint and slicked himself up quickly before lining his cock up with Q’s arse and pressing in slowly until he bottomed out.

“Move,” Q groaned, wriggling his hips to help get Anthony started. Slow and soft was good as long as there was actual movement.

Anthony obliged, pulling almost all the way out before pushing back in.

“Oh fuck.” Q bit his lip and curled his fingers in the duvet. He was already close to the edge, already on the verge of coming without even being touched.

“Hold on, baby,” Anthony panted, picking up his speed as he lifted Q’s legs to get a better angle.

Anthony was driving deeper, his cock rubbing over Q’s prostate with every move. It was too much for him and Q came with a harsh moan, “B—oh!”

Anthony’s thrusts grew erratic and he quickly followed Q over the edge, Q’s name on his tongue as he collapsed onto Q.

They lied together, Q’s arms wrapping around Anthony as they both tried to catch their breath.

“We should do that more often,” Q said when Anthony finally rolled off of him. They were both sticky with come and sweat, but Q found he didn’t care. He hadn’t felt this relaxed in months.

Anthony leaned over, pressing a kiss to the corner of Q’s mouth. “Anytime you want, love.” He got up and dealt with the condom before coming back to clean Q up with a damp washcloth.

Once he was clean, Anthony tossed the flannel into the bathroom and settled onto the bed next to Q. Q rolled onto his side, resting his head on Anthony’s chest.

Despite almost saying the wrong name, despite the fact that Bond was thrilling and seductive, Q couldn’t imagine having shared such a tender moment with the agent. He ran a finger down Anthony’s chest, savouring the slight twitch as Q reached the tender flesh of his stomach. Q pushed himself up to look at Anthony, smiling when he met those blue eyes.

Q cupped his boyfriend’s cheek and looked him deep in the eyes as he drew him closer for a kiss. “I love you,” he whispered against Anthony’s mouth.


End file.
